


The Quick and the Deadly

by Taz



Category: Moonlight (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood Drinking, First Time, Humor, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-21
Updated: 2011-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 08:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taz/pseuds/Taz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mick has left his failing marriage but, as a vampire, feels that he has no place in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quick and the Deadly

“Mick! There’s a lady wants to see you.” Someone was beating on my door. It was like the hampering was happening inside my brain pan. I tried to ignore it, but the knuckles went rap-tap-tapping… “Come on, Sleeping Beauty! I know you’re in there!”

I crawled out of the tub as sour as last week’s sin and stumbled across the floor prepared to rip someone’s throat out. When I yanked the door open, though, a streak of sunlight jabbed me in the eye. Flinching spoils the effect.

“Cute.” Tony Manetta grinned at me around the stump of the cigar jammed in the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck you,” I said.

“Bela, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Whatta you want?” I growled.

Tony removed the cigar and emitted a sighed like a steam boiler. “I want you to come down stairs and introduce me to my future bride. She’s waiting for me in the music room.”

“How about I introduce you to my soon-to-be ex-wife?”

“Nah. Too frisky. Definitely not my type.” His eyes gleamed like black olives in fresh dough. “Besides, I happen to know she hopped on a Constellation for France last Thursday.” He jammed stogie back in his mouth. “Go put some pants on. A gentleman doesn’t greet a lady with his shlong hanging out.”

I slammed the door in his face. Down the hall someone yelled “Knock it off, shmucks!”

Peace and quiet is the great thing about living here at Maggie’s.

Maggie is Margaret Mayfair. If you know the name, you know how briefly it flashed across the silent screen. Back in 1924, Maggie was ‘the girl every American boy wants to bring home.’ Then some letch took advantage and, needless to say, she couldn’t work. At least not in the movies.

Maggie air-conditioned the top floors of Fairvale, her house up in the hills, and rented rooms to persons, like myself, who require a quiet place to rest during the day, where the neighbors mind their own business. I heard, after the crash, if you were broke, she’d let you bunk in the walk-in meat-locker in the basement until you got back on your feet. Twenty-four years later, she’s still a soft-touch.

I put on my pants and the cleanest shirt I could find. I wasn’t expecting company but, as long as it wasn’t my wife, I was open to surprises.

She was young. A piece of angel cake. Bobby socks trying to look older in a belted jacket and slender grey skirt that were last year’s fashions. Corn-gold curls peeked from under a little hat with a ribbon as blue as her eyes. But those eyes were red from crying and there dark circles under them. I would have known she’d just gotten off the bus from Nowhere, even if I hadn’t seen the cheap green fiberboard suitcase parked next to the front door.

As soon as she saw me, she said “You’re Mick!” and before I could deny it, she’d thrown herself into my arms.

Under the tears and diesel fumes and sweat, she was so fresh that I could feel my fangs erupt. I could also hear Tony sniggering. I pushed her away and said, “Excuse me, kiddo, but who are you?”

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “I’m Ilene Jablonski.” I must have looked like a blank check, because she dug into her handbag and pulled out an envelope, and a handkerchief. She handed me the envelope. I recognized the handwriting. It was mine. The envelope was from the announcement I’d sent to all of my army buddies when Coralline and I got married. “You’re ‘Ski’s little sister!”

“Yes.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry throwing myself at you like this, with no warning. Hank said that if he was ever in trouble, he didn’t have a better friend in the world than you. I was hoping—”

“Excuse me,” Tony interrupted. “Somebody owes me three dollars.”

“For what?” I said.

“I’m the hack brought her here. You think I run a charity?” Ilene started sobbing again.

I walked her over to the davenport and sat her down. I dug out my wallet and handed Tony three dollars.

“No tip?” he said.

“Are you a comedian?”

“I’ll catch you later.” He put his shades on and was almost out the door, when he turned around and said, “Hey, Big Spender, son’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” As if there was anything.

“Thank you.” Ilene was dabbing her eyes with the hanky. “I only had five dollars when I got off the bus, but I spent 60¢ for a cup of coffee and a sandwich at the depot while I was waiting for Laszlo, and it cost two dollars getting to your house.”

“My house?” She had to mean Coralline’s house. I hadn’t lived there for three months.

Her lower lip started trembling. “It was awful!” Not most people’s response to a house designed by

“What are you talking about? Ilene! Sweetie! Before we go any further—who is Laszlo?”

“Laszlo Romero. He’s my agent. I’m going to be a model. He said that he’d meet me at the bus depot, but he wasn’t there.”

“I’m shocked.”

“No!” She stuck out her lower lip. “It’s not like you’re thinking. He sent me a ticket.” She produced the stub. “When he didn’t come, I went to his office. The building, was…was...!” Here came the waterworks, again. “It was horrible!”

“Maybe you better start from the beginning and tell me the whole story.” I was pretty sure I knew it, but this was ‘Ski’s sister.

You know how it goes. Ilene had seen an ad in the back of _Movie Time_ : _Do you have what it takes to be a model?_ She’d mailed two dollars and a head-shot to an address on Hill Street and two weeks later she’d gotten a letter from a Laszlo Romano who said he was a theatrical agent. He asked for more pictures, head shots, full length, and formal, and in a bathing suit, of course. He asked her, to please, tell him about her hopes and dreams. She wrote back and told him all about starring in her High School production of ‘Our Town’ and how she knew she wanted to be a serious actress, wasn’t sure how you did that, but she’d heard you could start out modeling. She paid for the photo shoot with money from her job at Woolworths. A week later, Laszlo, wrote. He said he thought she had ‘The Look’ and that he was willing to represent her. There was a contract. She signed it. He sent her a ticket on a Greyhound and told her he’d pick her up at the station.

I asked her what ‘Ski and her parents thought of this plan. She said they wouldn’t have understood. Two days ago, she had snuck out of the house before dawn and gotten on the first bus.

Stories like this usually end badly. Fortunately, when Ilene got to Los Angeles, there was no one to meet her. She waited a couple of hours, but it was starting to get creepy at the bus station. She caught a Red Line to the address on Laszlo’s business card. She showed that to me too. He had an office in The Brill Building on Hill Street. When she got there, the whole area was cordoned off. Sometime before dawn, there had been a fire.

Alone in Los Angeles, with no way to get in touch with Laszlo, and pretty much broke, she started crying. There were a lot of cops around. One of them saw her and asked what the matter was. She had enough smarts to know that if she told him the truth, he’d take her in and insist on contacting her family. She told him that she was lost and showed him the envelope with my return address on it that she’d brought with her, just in case. The cop had flagged a cab and put her in it. When she got to Coralline’s house, I wasn’t there. The guy who answered the door said I had moved out three months ago but he knew where I was and told Tony to take her to Maggie’s.

It’s wonderful how nice and knowing everyone is in Los Angeles.

Thing was, if Coralline was in Paris, the least her damn _friend_ could have done was pay the hack.

And what did Ilene want me to do for her? Telegraph her family and let them know she was okay? Loan her bus fare back to Calumet? No, she wanted me to find Laszlo.

The smart thing would have been to put her straight back on the bus to Michigan. But she was tired and the sister of an old army buddy. I didn’t think it would hurt her to learn a few hard truths and, the truth was, I didn’t have much to do that night. I don’t have a lot to do most nights.

There was just one problem. “Are you hungry?” Ilene said yes, she hadn’t had anything to eat since that sandwich at the bus station.

I told her to wait and went back to my room. I put on a tie and jacket. I grabbed my hat and trench coat and drifted down the hall. There were typewriter keys clacking away inside a room at the end.

I tapped on the door.

A voice said, “No one home.”

I opened it anyway.

“Get lost,” Marty Neidermeyer said.

He was sitting at his desk under the window and beating up a typewriter with two fingers. The sight of his hairy back with the pale rolls of flesh bulging out the straps of his grubby undershirt wasn’t pretty. Fortunately, I have a strong stomach.

“Marty, I need a favor,” I said.

“And I need a hundred-thousand dollars.” He smacked the carriage return.

“I’ve got a problem.”

“Mick,” Marty, finally, swiveled around and looked at me with the saddest brown collie dog eyes, “if I finish this by Thursday, the editor of _Man Hunt_ just may give me twenty-five of that hundred-thousand. Now, go ahead and ask me if I care about your problem.”

Under the name Dirk Wellborn, Marty bangs out articles for _Man Hunt, Wild Side_ and _True Range Romances._ Nights, he mans the desk at the Kilmarnock Hotel. There was a uniform jacket hanging on the back of his chair. One way or another, everyone at Maggie’s works nights.

“There’s a girl downstairs,” I said. “Her name’s Ilene.”

“I repeat myself, ask me if I care.”

“She’s the sister of an old army buddy and she’s a _good girl_. I can’t leave her here.”

“Yeah, I suppose that would be the same as leaving my lunch on the counter in a brown bag with no name on it.”

“Marty, if you take her to dinner and put her in a courtesy room at the Kilmarnock, I’ll give you 30 dollars.”

“Oh, well, since you put it like that, the least I can do is rescue the fair damsel”

“You’re a pal,” I said.

He held out his hand. “Make it fifty.”

I dug out my wallet, again, and dropped fifty on his palm. “This pays for dinner.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Tell her I’ll be down, as soon as I shave.” Marty turned around and socked the carriage return again.

Easy to forget Marty used to have a corner office at Eclipse Pictures, with two Oscars on the bookcase. That was before he took the fifth in front of HUAC. He hocked the statuary hen his wife took the kids and moved back to New Jersey. Marty’s never flat out said that he knows about the rest of us here at Fairvale. I’m sure he suspects, though.

I stopped on my way out and explained to Ilene that Mr. Neidermeyer would be down shortly to take her to the Kilmarnock. I had to interrupt her squealing, to say if, while she was waiting for him, someone shows up and asks if she wants a bite, to say no. Seriously, just say no.

I still had the little Coronet coupe that had been Coralline’s gift to me for our first anniversary. If I didn’t figure out how to make some money soon I was going to have to sell it. It was going twilight, by then, what the French call the blue hour, so I put the top down, gave it the full bore and let the wind blow the alcohol fumes out of my brain.

I wasn’t sure how I was going to find Lazslo, assuming that was his name, but I had an idea. I knew the neighborhood where the Brill Building was. It’s a colorful area, I like it. Hasn’t picked up after the war, but there are all-night cafes and newsstands that stay open late…and lots of clubs. I used to play a couple of them.

I parked on Waverly and walked a couple of blocks over to Culvert. The Brill housed mostly music and dance studios, and second rate talent agencies. No surprise Laszlo had an office there; if he was legit, I mean, and hadn’t pulled a fade.

I turned onto Hill, saw the barricades and smelled smoke. Ilene hadn’t exaggerated—The Brill looked like it had taken a direct hit. There was a police cruiser parked behind the barricades to keep the Nosy Parkers away. A blond plainclothes dick was leaning against the car, chatting with the uniform inside it. He was dragging on a ready roll and looked bored with the world. Quick enough, though, to caught me eyeing him and give me a little two-finger wave.

I let him watch me stroll across the street, pause in front of Atman’s and pretend I was window shopping for a television set. Coralline and I had talked about getting a one…when we hadn’t been fighting. There was a Philco with a shiny mahogany case in the window. It was on sale, but even at only $199, with no money down and easy payments, who can afford it? Anyway, Atman’s was closed. The Blues-ette, next door, was open, though. I went in.

It was early and the place was pretty empty. King Cole was on the juke box singing ‘Pretend’ … _little things you haven’t got, could be a lot, if you pretend…_ Someone said, “God help us all and Oscar Wilde, look what the cat dragged in. There was a pungent smell in the air and a haze of blue smoke floating over a booth.

Buddy Handy’s gold teeth flashed in the gloom as I slid onto the bench across from him. “Hey, little chicken,” he said, “how’s it tickin’?”

“Still drinking Black Label and Bell’s?” The glass in front of him was empty.

“I am, if you’re buying.” I signaled the bartender to set him up and he looked me over. “You look a little peaked, son. I’m not sure married life agrees with you.”

“We’ve split.”

“Too bad.” He shook his head. “Lookin’ for work?”

“Could be.” The waiter set his beer with a shot on the side. “Right now, what I’m looking for is a guy named Romano. Got an office at the Brill.”

“Had,” Buddy corrected me.

“I saw. What happened?”

“Five o’clock this morning. Fire trucks everywhere.” Buddy shrugged. “Lucky no one was hurt.”

I let that pass. “Toasted?”

“You kidding?’

“Anybody tapped for it?

“Are you writing a book, face?” I shook my head. “Word is they picked up Torch Stoll and he smelled like gasoline.”

“That little bug’s so crazy, he’d confess to setting the Chicago Fire.”

“Which you think Captain Carmady don’t know?”

It sounded like insurance. Otherwise why would the police pick up Torch? Except, that Buddy had said no one died and I knew different. Problem was I was starting to get hungry. I’m lucky there are people who can’t hold their liquor, but last night’s dinner had mostly Thunderbird in his veins.

“Listen, I gotta go, Buddy. You enjoy yourself.” I stood up and dug a few frog skins out of my wallet. This was turning into an expensive evening, but he was an old friend.

Before I could put the bills down, he spread his big, warm hand over mine and folded my hand around them. “No, Mick.” Spots of anger showed in his eyes. “Only thing I want you is not to be such a stranger. You come and jam with us later. Even if you put that ax of yours up the spout, we’ll fix you up.”

“We’ll see,” I said, and walked away.

Outside, the uniform was still sitting in his car, but the plain clothes dick had gone. I crossed the street, went around the corner, and slipped up the alley. There were saw-horses across it, half-way down. I went around.

I started at the top of the fire-escape. It was no trouble getting inside; most of the windows were blown out. Trouble was that everything inside was charred black and the floor didn’t feel very reliable. Good as my night vision is, I wished I’d brought a flashlight. I stayed near the walls and followed my nose. The smells were complicated: wood, still burning deep in the fabric of the building, dirty water, rubber, insulation, but that wasn’t all… Underneath was a smell like someone had burnt the breakfast bacon.

The Brill Building was five stories. Laszlo had had an office on the fourth floor and that’s where my nose led me. The door was closed. I kicked it open. There was a humped shadow over the desk. If it was Laszlo, maybe the smoke had gotten him. Buddy had said the sirens started at five o’clock. That’s awfully early to be working late. There was something… I took a step. The floor boards groaned. I reached into my coat pocket and found my Zippo. I flipped the top, thumbed the flint-wheel and held it up. The body was slumped over a charred blotter on the desk. The stake had gone through it and come out the back. The flame danced nervously as lifted my arm higher. Someone’s head was lying on the floor on the right side of the desk. If it was Laszlo’s, someone meant him to stay dead. That put a whole new spin on things.

I got the hell out of there.

I wasn’t looking forward to telling Ilene that Laszlo was dead. But it was a relief to think that I’d be able put her on the bus in the morning with a clear conscience.

When I landed, my head was full of the fire smells. I wasn’t paying attention. As I hit the ground beside the fire escape, something sharp dug into my ribs and a cheerful voice said, “Put your hands in the air and pretend this is one of those stick-up’s you read about. My name’s Randy, by the way.” A vampire. Not very old or I would have smelled him.

“Nice to meet you, Randy.” While he patted my pockets, a Yellow taxi pulled up the alley and stopped.

“Get in,” Randy said. “We’re going for a ride.” There was another vampire in the back. I climbed in the middle and Randy got in beside me. Both of them were dark, good looking, and very big.

In the driver’s seat, Tony Manetta said, “Hey, Mick, how’s the boy?”

“You tell me,” I said. “What’s this about?”

“The old man wants to have a chat with you.”

“Tell him to phone me.”

Tony laughed. “You don’t have a phone.”

He turned right on Culvert and, in a bit, right on Sunset and we drove up into the hills. After a while, I leaned back against the upholstery and tried to get my hands to unclench. I knew where we were going…home…to Coralline’s house.

The first time I saw the place, I thought it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen, all glass and white stucco. I’d never seen anything like it. That was before I saw Coralline. She had just come back from France and was throwing a party. She hired my band.

We got married two months later.

The first time I tried to leave her was on our honeymoon.

When we got to the house Tony drove around the back. The lights in the pool were on, casting a turquoise tint on the stucco. The cold color contrasted with the red light inside. It looked like Christmas. Randy, me and the other mook, got out. We walked around the pool, as Tony took off. The glass doors open into the living room where the old man was waiting.

I have no idea how old he is, but Josef Kostan, the oldest vampire in Los Angeles, doesn’t look a day over a thirty. He was sitting on Coralline’s white sofa with his arms spread on the back of it and his legs crossed on the coffee table. The delicate rose stripe in the charcoal wool of his vest and trousers matched his shirt perfectly. You don’t see many vampires with manicured nails. He doesn’t like me, either.

Randy said, “Here he is boss.”

Kostan put his finger to his lip. He was watching a new console television set. It was sitting in a corner of the room like a blazing blue cyclops’s eye. _…Just remember till you're home again, you belong to me…_ The singer finished and the credits started to roll.

“That girl is the real Bikini! Turn it off, Randy and fix a drink for me and Mick.”

Randy turned the television set off, then went to the bar and began mixing up a pitcher of Gautier Cocktails, champagne and blood.

“Have a seat Mick.” Kostan patted the sofa cushion beside him. I ignored him. He said, “I wasn’t asking.”

Randy looked up from garnishing a pair of flutes with green olives. “Boss?”

Considering the width of Randy’s shoulders, I sat. As far from Kostan on the sofa as I could get. He merely smiled in amusment. “Thank you.”

Randy brought the drinks a silver tray. He served Kostan, and then offered one to me. I shook my head. “Set in on the coffee table,” Kostan said, “and make yourself scarce.”

“You sure, boss?”

“I’m sure.” Randy disappeared.

The smell of blood in the drink set my teeth itching. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, giving me orders in my own home,” I said.

“You moved out. Remember? Anyway, Coralline’s letting me stay. I said I’d take care of getting the repairs done while she was away.” He picked up his drink, walked over to the windows that look out on the swimming pool and tapped the glass. “Three whole panels, this time. Were you going for a record?”

Pushed me to the edge, I snapped. “Why don’t you drop dead twice!”

My fangs erupted as Kostan whipped around but, before I could move, he was across the room and had me by the front of my shirt. Hissing, he picked me up and shook me like a terrier with a rat. “Get off me!” I yelled. “Get off of me, you…”

Kostan jerked me close. Neck arched, he tipped his head as if he were about to rip my throat out. “What?”

He was daring me to say it.

“Bloodsucker!”

He slammed me into the back of the sofa. I was dizzy from hunger and the bloodlust.

“That’s right! I’m a bloodsucker. And so are you.” Himself again, he shot his cuffs and dusted a fleck of invisible dust from the front of his vest. “I told Coralline you’d make a lousy vampire. Drink your blood. You look god-awful.”

The glass was on the table in front of me. I picked it up and gulped half of it down.

“See,” Kostan said, “better already.” I finished it. My fangs retracted. “Want another?”

“Yes.” He went to the bar and got the pitcher. As he filled my glass, I said, “If you thought I’d be such a lousy vampire why didn’t you stop her?”

“Mickey, Mickey, Mickey,” he sighed, “You were a like dog after a bitch in heat. What would you have done if I’d tried to interfere? You wouldn’t have believed the truth and, considering the bitch in question…I like my life. But, simply of curiosity, what would you have done, if I had tried.”

I muttered something into my glass.

“Louder, please, I didn’t hear you.”

“I would have beaten the crap out of you,” I said.

“In your dreams. Tragically, you discovered, as many men have before you, that your wife wasn’t the woman you thought you’d married. How long are you going to sulk about it?”

“It’s all wrong.” If I’d had enough blood in my veins, I would have flushed. “I wanted to make her proud of me.”

“Mmm…I’m an old fashioned guy, myself,” Kostan said. “but, you  know, women here have had the vote for twenty-eight years. I find that women, especially vampire women, don’t need a man to take care of them.”

“No!” I tried to explain. “We were on the verge of a record deal. The guys thought I funked out. I can’t go into clubs, anymore. The music’s too loud. The smells are too strong, and…I can’t play…I broke…” It was hard to catch my breath. “I shattered my guitar…”

“And a lot of windows. You’re afraid of losing control.” Kostan looked sympathetic. “It gets better.”

“You say.”

“I speak from experience.” He smiled and the tips of his fangs showed. “Believe me, it gets better. But it’s going to be awfully hard on your friends if you spend the next hundred years pouting about it like a four-year old.”

“Since when are you a friend of mine?”

“All right. Point. But I could be a friend, if you’d let me. Here…” He poured the last of the pitcher into my glass. “Finish it; you’ll feel better. Listen to Papa Josef telling you that it will get a whole lot better faster if you lay off juicers. You’re not taking any moral high ground that way. Find yourself a nice steady clean supply. And, by the way, what did you do with that adorable little Ilene?”

“Asked Marty Neidermeyer to put her up at the Kilmarnock.”

“Good. It would have been too bad if she’d ended up a dry husk in a landfill somewhere.”

I stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I assumed you figured out that Romero was a vampire.”

“And that somebody wanted him good and dead.” I twigged. “You?” Kostan nodded. “The whole building?”

“I own it.” He shrugged. “It seemed my friend, Mr. Romero, has been little luring girls out here for the past year, promising…all kinds of things. When they get here, he’d have his way…bury the body. Since there they weren’t local girls, if it happened that one of those bodies turned up, chances were she’d be just another Jane Doe.”

I felt clammy. “How many?” I said.

“Too many. At least five. They’re breaking ground for a new highway. Most of them were pretty badly decomposed. One of them wasn’t. She was drained. That attracted the attention of our friend in the police department.” Remembering the blond detective who had saluted me, I flicked a look at Kostan. He nodded. “See, it’s good to have friends, Mick. You should try it.”

“You just referred to Romero as your friend. Look where it got him.”

“What can I say? I’m a tolerant man; I put up with you. But I will _not_ tolerate someone threatening to bring negative attention to the growing community of vampires out here. This is a good place for us. We can settle for a while. Not always have to be ready to move on. There are lots of jobs and un-traditional situations we can slip into without being noticed.”

“And when someone notices that you’ve looked amazingly young for such a suspiciously long time?”

“They have.” Kostan grinned. “They ask me for the name of my plastic surgeon.”

I had to bury my face in my hands; I couldn’t help the laughter. When it was done and I looked up. Kostan was looking very seriously at me. He took my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipped my face up, and said, “Pardon the pun, but I have been dying to do this.”

His mouth barely touched me.

I grabbed his arms, thinking I was meant to shove him away. I didn’t. His breath was warm on my skin and I had been so cold for so long.

“The first time I saw you,” he whispered, “I thought you were the most beautiful creature I’d seen in a hundred years—in spite of the most unbelievably atrocious coat and tie I have ever seen... I wanted to give you the tiniest little nip. Right here…” His lips pressed harder against mine and then I felt the fangs graze my lip. “And here.” They bruised the skin of my jaw. “And here...” They pierced the skin of my neck. Blood was flowing down my neck.

My own fangs burst through. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him down on top of me, not knowing whether I wanted to feed or be fed.

He had no doubts and settled the issue by releasing his mouth and clamping my head to his neck. I bit down. Sweet blood flooded my mouth. I swallowed and sucked and swallowed. In the distance, someone was growling. Nearer someone was whispering in my ear, urging me to eat… _my pet…my child…my beloved…eat._ I ate. I gorged. I glutted. Like a child. Like an animal. Like a monster. Until I was stuffed and replete with pleasure, trying to blindly bury my head in his shoulder. He held me tightly to him, panting and finally shuddering against me, groaning.

I was sleepy and stupid after. I knew I should have been guilty and ashamed, but lying there with him stroking me was heaven.

Eventually, time did intrude and the tangle of legs became uncomfortable.

He twitched.

I whined.

He batted me and said. “Up. Or we’ll have to send the cushions to the cleaners.”

Believe me, I sat up then.

 

TBC


End file.
